An Unfinished Story
by Monny287
Summary: Post-AYITL drabbles centered around Jess and Rory. Because the last four words were not the end.
1. A Passing Acquaintance

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **A/N: I will readily admit that I don't write GG fanfiction. Until the revival, it wasn't even a fandom I** _ **read**_ **fanfiction for. Now I have more Lit stories saved in my favorites than any other fandom-how on earth did that happen?! Ever since, little headcanons have been popping into my brain and I've finally decided to write them down. These are unconnected unless specified otherwise.**

 _A Passing Acquaintance_

The diner was dead. _Dead_ dead. Not the normal mid-morning lull that was typical as the denizens of Stars Hollow lazily moved from their pancakes and coffee to whatever it was they did all day. And thankfully not the eery silence of people plugged into their devices, oblivious to the world around them. Jess leaned his his elbows against the counter he'd just wiped down, a rough manuscript splayed open before him, and a ballpoint pen tapping aimlessly against the page. Even a family emergency-if one could constitute being pressed into waitstaff service because Caesar had the flu a "family emergency-couldn't get him out of doing his day job. The diner was empty save for himself and Lorelai, perched at the end of the long counter with her signature cup of coffee and witty remarks aimed at his uncle, busy doing inventory in the stockroom. Jess surfaced from the story long enough to hear Lorelai admonish Luke for not understanding a _perfectly obvious_ pop culture reference and that even if he didn't watch said television show himself, his many years with her should have meant he picked it up by osmosis. Jess smirked to himself and made a note about characterization in the margins of the manuscript; this one wasn't half-bad, and definitely more interesting than others he'd read recently.

He didn't hear the bell above the door chime, barely heard a young male voice greet Lorelai, but he was brought quickly to reality by Lorelai's suddenly cold tone: "Logan." Jess looked up quickly to see the unfortunate sight of one Logan Huntzberger, who, in his designer polo and khakis, stuck out like a sore thumb in the well-worn diner. Jess stuck the pen into the manuscript to mark his page and quickly tried to suppress his inner juvenile delinquent. Beyond Logan's obvious connection to Rory (one getting more obvious by the day), and the memorable first impression he'd left on Jess years prior, Logan represented an echelon that Jess couldn't stomach. One that used money to grease the wheels and make problems disappear in an effort to evade responsibility for their actions. One that felt they were better than others by the mere cosmic fortune of being born into the right family.

To his credit, Logan didn't try to soothe whatever had caused the cold shoulder from Lorelai; he ordered two coffees to go and busied himself with counting out the correct bills. As Jess prepared them, he could feel Logan eyeing him. Clearly, Jess had not made nearly the same depth of impression that night, but there was an air of familiarity Logan was trying to place. Jess handed over the coffee and slid the coins across the counter. He saw the moment it clicked for Logan.

"Hey, I know you. You're one of Rory's friends, right?" he paused. "The writer?" Jess put the money in the register and plastered on a fake smile. The rational, thirty-something adult in him advised him to nod and let it go. The snarky teenager had a different idea.

"Well, hey, I thought I recognized you. Blonde Dick from Yale?"

Jess heard a loud snort from the end of the counter as Lorelai inhaled a mouthful of coffee. Logan's eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to respond. He thought better of it as Luke emerged from the stockroom, roused by the sound of Lorelai's choked coughing. Logan pursed his lips and whirled around with his coffees, leaving the diner and slamming the door behind him. Luke shot Jess a look that asked _what was his problem?_ Jess shrugged and flipped the manuscript open to where he left off. As he picked up the pen and bent over to continue his editing, he could have sworn he saw Lorelai send a smile and a small wink his way.

 **A/N: The end, for now. Thoughts and feedback are appreciated.**


	2. Deja Vu All Over Again

_**Deja Vu All Over Again**_

Rory slammed the screen of her laptop closed a little harder than she'd meant to, startling Paul Anka awake next to her. She'd been staring at the same three paragraphs for five hours, and between backspacing, re-writing, and backspacing some more, she wasn't any closer to finishing the chapter than she was when she started. Paul Anka huffed a sigh that seemed to encapsulate the frustration she felt better than she could have expressed it in words. She rubbed behind his ears as he lay his grizzled snout on her thigh. The house was still and quiet, save for the rhythmic _tick-tock_ of the clock on the mantle, and the wind keening outside the window. Luke and Lorelai had left on their long-overdue honeymoon two days before, leaving Rory to dogsit and work on her manuscript. In theory, anyway. The dogsitting was going fine. It was the writing that was stalled.

Rory felt at once both comforted and unsettled by the familiar sights and sounds of her childhood home. It did little to quell her feelings of moving backward, or of being stuck and unfocused, and her book-which had temporarily alleviated that feeling-wasn't helping, what with her bout of writer's block. She heaved the computer onto the coffee table in front of her and stretched her arms over her head. Her stomach growled, and a quick glance at the clock made her realize it had been several hours since she'd eaten. The half-eaten Pop Tart on the table (half-eaten by her or the dog, she couldn't remember) was a testament to her last meal. Rory wasn't usually one to forget meals, but lately...a wave of guilt washed over her as she scolded herself for her forgetfulness. After all, it wasn't just about her anymore. She hovered a hand over her abdomen absently and did a mental inventory of the kitchen. Two days without Luke and two days without a grocery shopping trip did not bode well for her dinner options. She was mustering up the motivation to dig through the take-out menu drawer when the doorbell rang. Paul Anka looked up curiously and twitched his ears, before climbing off the couch and scrambling up the stairs to Luke and Lorelai's room. _Some watchdog,_ Rory thought. She made her way to the door and flung it open just as the doorbell sounded again. On the other side was Jess, a cardboard box tucked under one arm and an amused expression on his face.

"Delivery," he deadpanned. She smiled.

"Wow, I'm sorry. I could have _sworn_ it was 2016. When did I suddenly step into 2002?"

"Ha ha. It's not from me, it's from Luke."

"That's what you said last time, too."

"Ah, but last time, I didn't have a note," he shifted the weight of the box from one arm to another. "Can I come in before I drop this?" Rory stepped aside to let him through. He made his way towards the kitchen, where he set the box down on the table and fished out the note scrawled unmistakably in Luke's handwriting, telling her that Luke was aware she wouldn't go shopping and that deliveries were scheduled every two days until he and her mother returned in two weeks.

"Okay, you're legit," she conceded as he began pulling styrofoam containers out of the box and placing them on the table. He cocked an eyebrow in a way that made her feel distinctly seventeen again.

"Are you saying that if I, out of the goodness of my heart, decided to deliver a care package to an old friend, you wouldn't have let me in?" he asked. Her stomach let out another growl as she opened one of the containers to reveal a hamburger. Heat touched her cheeks and he smirked. "I'm gonna take that as a no."

"I ate the last package of Pop Tarts this afternoon," she said by way of explanation, stuffing two fries in her mouth. She held the container out to him, and he took one.

"Tragic. Looks like I came just in time."

"Looks like," she agreed. "So, what are you still doing in town? I thought you would have headed back to Philly right after the wedding."

"I took a couple of weeks off. Thought I'd come up and see Liz for a reason other than saving her and TJ from a crazy vegetable cult." He shrugged. "I've been trying to come up more. Be around, check in on them. She's not like she used to be, but Liz is...still Liz." He sounded almost embarrassed. She didn't quite know how to respond to that.

"And how are they?"

"Same old, same old, I guess. Their couch isn't doing anything for my back, let me tell you."

"There's an old man joke in there somewhere, but I'm not gonna make it."

"You know, they say it's bad to bite the hand that feeds you," the smirk was back. "I am capable of taking all this lovely food back to the diner."

"You wouldn't." Just in case, she huddled her arms protectively around her fries.

"Try me." He easily reached around her pinch another fry from the container, and laughed when she smacked his hand away. She glared at him. "Ooh, I think I just got a glimpse of the patent-pending Rory Gilmore withering stare."

"Nope. You're not bleeding."

"At least not externally." The conversation lulled. "How's the writing coming?"

Rory let out a huff of breath, lifting a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her face. Jess' eyebrows raised.

"That good, huh?"

"Writer's block. I don't know what happened. The first three chapters just _flowed,_ you know? I couldn't get the ideas down fast enough. And now…"

"And now you're stuck."

"Exactly."

"Come on, Rory. You know as well as I do that writer's block is part of the process. It's normal. If you really get in a bind, have someone else read over it." He paused. "Hell, I'll even take a look at it, if you want."

"What?" She wouldn't say the thought hadn't crossed her mind. But she didn't think he'd volunteer. "Are you sure?"

"Have you ever known me to volunteer for something I didn't want to do?" He had a point. "Go get your laptop." He was already shrugging out of his jacket. She debated, but figured anything was better than staring at the same four paragraphs. She turned to get her laptop from the coffee table.

The next hour they spent hunched over her Word document, parsing the storyline and discussing style. She watched as Jess scanned the words quickly and efficiently, stopping every now and again to type his own comments in and around her words in blue-colored font. The comments were at once Socratic and snarky, reminiscent of the younger, angrier Jess and his notes scrawled in the margins of so many of her books. A joking comment made about her stylistic choices led to a debate on the merits of stream-of-consciousness writing, then to Faulkner, and then-as Rory should have anticipated-their usual split decision on Hemingway. Rory leaned back into her chair at the kitchen table and pulled her cardigan closer around her. She felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders and the vice-grip around her temples loosened; this would never change. _This_ , with Jess. The ease at which they could relate, talk, banter, argue, and know that they could emerge-despite their history-friends.

There was a lull in the conversation, and the house grew quiet enough for Jess and Rory to hear the clock above the mantle sound the Westminster chimes, and then twelve bongs. Jess reached to quietly shut the laptop screen, and pulled his jacket off the back of the kitchen chair. He muttered something about it being late, and needing to go. She said nothing, but nodded and rose to walk with him to the door.

"Thanks for bringing over the food," she said. "And for your help. Sorry I kept you so long."

"It was nothing," he waved dismissively. "I'll see you later?"

"Sure," she agreed. As Jess made his way down the steps and towards his car parked in the driveway, Rory felt something was off. She bit her lip, debated with herself. "Hey, Jess?"

"Yeah?" he turned, car keys in hand.

"Why didn't Ceasar do the delivery?" she crossed her arms nervously. "I'm right on his way home."

"Figured I'd give him the night off," Jess smiled cheekily. "Why, think I wanted to come over and see you?"

"I-"

"'Cause I did, but that was just an added bonus," he clicked to unlock the car, climbed into the driver's seat. "See you later, Rory." She watched, tongue-tied, as his headlights flooded the yard and then receded as he backed out into the road. Rory heard the pitter-patter of claws on hardwood, and she looked down at Paul Anka, who glanced up at her expectantly.

"Huh." _What on earth do I do with that?_

 **A/N: This should probably count as a one-shot and not a drabble, since it's rather long. But it's going here anyway.**


	3. Maternity Wear

_**Maternity Wear**_

 _This is ridiculous,_ she thought, as she pawed through the various cardboard boxes currently stored in her childhood bedroom. Clothes were strewn on the bed beside her, formal dinner wear mixed haphazardly with fuzzy pajama pants. She had found her underwear (finally!), her Chilton uniform (why had she even brought that to Brooklyn?), and several pairs of stockings (seriously, who needs ten pairs in the same color?). What she couldn't find was _one damn shirt that fit._ The button down she swore had fit fine last week was now unable to be buttoned, and she wandered around her room with the sides of it wafting with the pace of her movements. She glared down briefly at the reason why; her burgeoning belly was also the reason she had switched from wearing jeans to leggings lately. It was on her "to-do" list to buy maternity clothes, but...well, there were a lot of things on her "to-do" list. And at least one of them was finding a job so she could afford the maternity clothes. Asking Lane was an option, but she felt pretty confident walking around Stars Hollow in an open button-down would go over like a lead balloon.

She rifled through another box and gave a frustrated groan. Nothing. One box left. She reached in, moved aside neatly folded work shirts and skirts. At the bottom, her hand grazed jersey fabric. She pulled it out and looked at it. A worn, black band t-shirt she didn't remember owning stared back at her, welcoming in its soft, slightly oversized-ness. She immediately traded the button down for the t-shirt, feeling a surge of triumph when it stretched easily over her baby bump and down to her hips. _Success!_ She switched the pajama pants she had been wearing for a pair of leggings, before grabbing her keys and heading out the door. She was supposed to meet her mother at the diner for lunch ten minutes ago. She glanced down at her phone as she walked there. Sure enough, Lorelai was blowing up her phone with texts, asking where she was.

She barrelled into the diner, out of breath, and slid into her usual seat at the table. Her mother eyed her curiously, probably both for her uncharacteristic bout of physical exertion and her interesting wardrobe choice.

"Shut up, nothing else fit," she said. Lorelai plucked at the shoulder seam, lifting it up for inspection.

"Where did you even _get_ this? Honey, I know the grunge look is coming back into style, but next time, I'd go with the flannel."

"I don't even know. It was buried at the bottom of one of the boxes."

"We have so got to take you shopping. After lunch."

"Mom…" Rory rolled her eyes and was about to reply when she caught a flicker of movement from the curtain separating the diner from the stairs that led to Luke's old apartment above. Jess stepped out from behind the curtain, nodding a sideways greeting to Luke. He seemed distracted, keys in one hand and phone in the other, but he suddenly stopped short as he looked up and spotted her and Lorelai at their table.

Rory saw his face pale and his eyes go wide as his gaze raked her from head to toe. She felt heat rush up the back of her neck and into her face. The shirt. The one she found but couldn't remember buying. The insignia she hadn't bothered to look too closely at had, in its younger and better days, advertised Metallica. And had once clung to the frame of the man standing across the room. Left behind the summer he left. Rescued by her from a box of his things Luke had intended to donate to charity. Shoved to the bottom of her drawer and forgotten about. Until now. If Lorelai noticed her impression of a tomato, she said nothing. Jess recovered quickly and breezed by them on his way out the door.

"Nice shirt."

"Thanks," she mutterred.

"Really brings out your eyes." The corners of his mouth tweaked teasingly into a smirk. Rory resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands to hide the blush. The bell above the door jingled as he left, and Rory turned her gaze back to her mother.

"So, shopping after lunch? Great idea."

 **A/N: Gosh, this idea has been kicking around my brain so long and I know it's not anything close to what I pictured. I hate it when that happens!** _ **Maternity Wear**_


	4. A Necessary Conversation

**A/N: So sorry for the delay in updating. Since I posted the last chapter, I have moved to NYC for grad school. Lots of stress, little sleep, and complete culture shock. Anyway, onwards!**

 _ **A Necessary Conversation**_

Luke Danes did not pride himself on being an overly perceptive man. He preferred to keep to himself, mind his own business, and let others do the same. However, it could not be said that he was stupid. Or blind. And so when he asked his nephew he was "over that" and said nephew insisted he was but wouldn't look him in the eye, Luke suspected, but let it go. The next evening, when Jess sat mutely through the reception, swirling his champagne around his glass and sneaking glances at the maid of honor, Luke noticed, but let it go. An hour later, when he saw them sitting together at the table, heads close together and caught up in a conversation meant only for the two of them, Luke noticed, but said nothing. He was too far away to hear anything, but they said volumes as Jess nodded towards the crowd then leaned over to whisper in her ear. She looked askance at him before cracking up, placing a hand on his arm. Jess broke out in a rare shy smile, and Luke knew it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

The weather grew colder, and the first flakes of snow began to drift onto the quiet streets of Stars Hollow just as Rory began to show. Luke tried not to notice the signs. _Really_ tried. He wanted to stay _out_ of it. Getting involved hadn't done him any good when they were kids, and even if he had reservations, it wouldn't do him any good now, either. It had started small, under the pretext of the "work thing" between them. E-mails that seemed strictly business. Questions about style, structure, publishers, and other things Luke had little idea went into the writing of a book. E-mails turned into phone calls, curled up in the armchair with her laptop and a concentrated expression, cell phone in one hand as she disagreed with him vehemently about the most recent notes he'd left on her manuscript. _What do you mean this section "sounds unrealistic"? It's totally realistic...it actually happened!_ His tinny voice on the other side, sounding amused at her level of ire. The phone calls got longer, less work focused. Rory moved from the living room to her old bedroom, shut the door. Luke overheard snippets of conversation about literature, politics, music when he wandered in and out of the kitchen. Phone calls turned into texts, ones that made her smile, an echo of the smile Luke had seen on his face at the reception. Some she showed Lorelai, if it happened to relate to a shared interest. Others she kept to herself, and she seemed flustered if someone asked her about them. Luke tried not to comment on them himself. Too sticky.

Thanksgiving approached, and Jess dropped hints to Luke during a rare phone call that he planned on coming to Stars Hollow. He'd heard Liz and TJ were headed to the Gilmore house for the holiday, and he'd been meaning to catch up with them, sans vegetable cult. See his little sister, which he hadn't done when he was up in the summer (Doula attending sleep-away camp and all). He showed up to the diner the day before with his army duffle and had barely shoved it towards his old bed upstairs before muttering something about having made plans to review Rory's newest chapters and rushing out the door. At dinner, they sat nowhere near each other, in a move that seemed almost calculated to Luke. They shared glances across the table throughout the meal, and more than once, Luke caught Jess eyeing Rory's new baby bump with an odd expression on his face. He wondered what that was about, but didn't comment. As Luke supervised the clean-up in the kitchen, he saw Jess shrug on his coat and scarf and pull something out of an inside pocket. Luke didn't see Jess slip out the door without saying goodbye; when he turned around, his arms covered from hand to elbow in suds, he saw Jess was gone, and a book lying in the middle of Rory's bed.

Christmas came and went, Jess absent on a business trip. Winter persisted, fairly mild, and melted slowly into spring. As the days lengthened and the weather armed, Luke could not deny there had been a noticeable increase in Jess in Stars Hollow. Day trips to help with the book, lunch meetings. Lunch extended into afternoon, leaving only when the shadows stretched long across the town and with excuses of wanting to be on the road before it got too dark. Invitations to dinner at the house or at the diner, and an increase in requests to crash at the diner. Luke could see where this whole thing was headed, and only hoped the two of them were treading lightly. Things weren't nearly as cut-and-dry as twenty years ago.

One weekend in May, Luke could no longer stay silent. Jess had driven up the night before, ostensibly to attend the small barbecue Luke was throwing in honor of the holiday weekend. He had, of course, taken off soon after arriving, shoving his worn duffle on his bed and scooting out the door after a brief greeting. Luke had waved him off dismissively; it had already been a long morning. The diner was packed with tourists, stopping in Connecticut on their way to Maine or Cape Cod or Vermont or wherever it was city dwellers went to escape the crowds and smog. He'd run out of coffee (Lorelai would be horrified), necessitating a trip to Doose's, where Taylor lectured him on his inability to plan ahead. The food delivery that was supposed to come at nine did not arrive until eleven, during which he was deep in the lunch rush and could not, for the life of him, find the damn delivery invoice. He called out a warning to Ceasar and headed upstairs, praying it was somewhere on his desk.

He walked into the apartment and shuffled through the papers on his desk, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the invoice sitting neatly on top of a stack of other paperwork on his desk. He went to leave before noticing that Jess' duffle, which he clearly had just propped against his bed, had fallen over, opening at the top and dumping out the clothes and items packed towards the top. Luke pulled the bag up, threw it on the bed so at least it wasn't on the floor, and began to gather the clothes and toiletries that had fallen out of it. He picked up a shirt, and underneath it, found a book lying cover-down. It didn't look like Jess' usual brand of literature; it was covered in pastels and large, blocky letters. Curious, he flipped it over. He registered the teddy bear and young woman sitting in the rocking chair before the title, printed in bold black font, let him know just how far gone Jess was. _What to Expect When You're Expecting._ Tucked into the spine of the book, about a quarter of the way through and marking the place, was a receipt for a bookstore in Philadelphia. Dated two weeks prior.

Luke swore loudly just as the door to the apartment swung open and Jess stepped inside. Jess froze as he realized what Luke had found, and Luke froze with the book still in his hand, unsure of how to respond. Awkward tension filled the room. Jess crossed and took the book silently from Luke, tucking it back into the duffle and pulling the drawstring closed securely. He said nothing, looked down at the floor. Luke broke the silence, taking off his ball cap and running a hand through his hair.

"Jess, what the hell are you doing?" Silence. "What are you even _thinking?"_

"Luke-"

"She's pregnant, Jess."

"No, really?"

"Don't be a smartass."

"I love her."

"Are you serious right now? What happened to 'long over'?"

"It _was_ 'long over.'"

"Was?"

"Was." Luke swore again.

"Jess, this is complicated."

"I know that." Jess crossed his arms over his chest and stared at a spot on the wall somewhere behind Luke.

"Do you? She is _pregnant._ The baby is not yours. In fact, if memory serves, you can't stand the guy who actually _did_ father this baby. Is any of this actually registering with you, or are you just living in denial?" Jess didn't answer, but clenched his jaw. "Doesn't any of it _matter_ to you?"

"Did it matter to you?" Jess' voice came out leveled, controlled, angry.

"Excuse me?"

"Did it matter to _you_? Lorelai and Rory moved here when Rory was what, ten, eleven? And it took you how long to fall in love with Lorelai? What, a matter of days? Did it matter to _you_ that the woman you loved had a child? A child that wasn't yours?"

"That was different-"

" _How?_ " Jess' voice began to rise. "How is it different? Did the fact that Christopher was Rory's father 'register' for you? Or did you look at them across the diner one morning and realize you didn't give a damn and you wanted them both? _Especially_ when Christopher was off doing God knows what God knows where." Luke looked away. He didn't want to admit Jess had a point. He remembered Rory waiting at the table for Lorelai when she was so little her feet didn't reach the ground, an impossibly large book unfolded on the table in front of her. Her asking him what the big words meant, him trying to answer to the best of his ability while serving burgers and fries to other customers. The week she had chicken pox and he had delivered unfathomable amounts of mashed potatoes to the Gilmore house, thanked with a small smile from a feverish Rory and a grateful hug from her mother. Birthday celebrations with coffee cake and balloons. Graduation from Chilton. Yale. Loving Rory had never been a conscious thought; it had been as easy for him as breathing. He'd never really given any thought to Christopher; to him, Rory was all Lorelai's.

"Christopher wasn't around, at least not until later-"

"And you think Logan's going to give up his rich playboy lifestyle to change diapers and do midnight feedings in some small town in Connecticut?"

"I know you hate the guy, Jess, but he's trying."

"Trying should look like a hell of a lot more than a phone call once a week and the offer of money. You and I both know that."

"Still more involved than Christopher."

"Yeah, well, he did set the bar pretty low."

"Jess-"

"Look, I get it. It's complicated. And complicated sucks. Would this be easier if she wasn't pregnant? Yes. Would it be easier if the baby was mine? Maybe. But even if this looks the same on the surface, I'm not _you._ I'm pretty sure there's a chance here. Now. And I'm taking it."

"But a baby, Jess. That's big."

"It is. But I'm not a kid anymore, and neither is she. And if she's in, so am I" Jess sighed, and grabbed his coat-his original reason for returning to the apartment-off the back of the kitchen chair. "So, Luke, don't take this the wrong way, but butt out. I gotta go. I told Rory I'd meet her ten minutes ago." He threw the coat around his shoulders and went to walk out the door.

"Hey, Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"You said-'if she's in.' Is she?"

"I think so." Jess smiled, but didn't wait around for Luke's reaction. Luke sat down heavily on the end of Jess' bed. He felt old, weary.

"Well, damn." Life was about to get a lot more interesting. He could only imagine what would happen when Lorelai found out.


	5. Best Man Wins

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who actually reads these things, and also those who take the time to review. This one is a scene that probably would never happen in-universe, but I thought it would be a fun one to include anyway.**

 _ **Best Man Wins**_

Jess ran his thumb over the pages in the book he'd pulled out of his pocket, his index finger marking where he'd left off, which was roughly three pages ahead of where he'd started over an hour ago. He probably could have finished it by now; it wasn't even bad, he was just preoccupied. He slouched against on the bench of the gazebo in the town square, leaning heavily on the railing behind him. He fiddled with the book, fiddled with the lighter in his jacket pocket, tapped his foot against the wooden floorboards until he got on his own nerves and had to stop. Checked his watch. One hour and twenty-three minutes ago, Rory had gone into Luke's for a discussion with Logan, which she promised would only take a few minutes. Half an hour tops. Jess had offered to go with her, at least for moral support (she'd snorted a laugh at that). She had declined, but asked if he wanted to grab a bite and a movie after, a hint to Jess to stay close. He wasn't sure what the talk was supposed to be about, but if the way Rory pulled at her sleeves of her sweater and tangled her fingers together tightly was any indication, it wasn't one she had been looking forward to.

Jess could see them from the gazebo; they sat in Rory and Lorelai's usual spot, a clear view through the plate-glass window. No tears, no yelling, from what he could tell-all good signs. Logan sat with his back facing the window, Rory across from him. Her body language gave little away; he couldn't tell much of anything from where he sat. He sighed, took another look at his watch (one hour and twenty- _seven_ minutes…), and flipped open his book again. He read through two more pages before he heard the steps of the gazebo creak and the heavy footfalls of boots on wood.

"Hey, is that one any good?" The last voice he expected to hear. Jess looked up see Dean Forrester standing at the edge of the gazebo, eyebrows raised and a baby perched on his hip.

"Couldn't tell you," Jess answered honestly, shrugging. He nodded towards the child chewing in her fingers and clutching Dean's shoulder. "She's cute. Yours?"

"Mine," Dean confirmed, a proud smile spread over his face. "I've got three more at home. Boys. They're off driving their mom crazy somewhere around here."

"Married?"

"Eight years now." He held up his left hand, the one not supporting the baby, and gestured towards the band on his ring finger.

"Damn."

"Yeah." They lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence, watching the baby as she ran a finger over the metal links in Dean's watch before moving to try and undo the clasp. She squealed in delight and wiggled as her father removed it and gave it to her, which quickly turned into a frown and a growl as he prevented her from putting it in her mouth. Jess watched the interaction momentarily, watching the ease with which Dean interacted with his daughter, the practiced way he shifted her weight from one arm to the other in order to remove his watch, the trust she held in him as he did so, that he wouldn't drop her. Jess flicked his gaze to the diner window. Rory and Logan were still talking, Rory intently listening to something Logan was saying over a plate of untouched fries. In a few months, Rory would have a child. Jess would be watching Rory interact with the baby in the same way Dean interacted with his baby. He wondered if Rory would be as comfortable with the role as Dean seemed to be. He wondered if Logan would. He wondered what his role in this all would be.

"For what it's worth," Dean's voice cut through his thoughts. Jess turned, to find that Dean had noticed where his attention had gone and had also turned to observe the pantomime through the window. "I hope you come out on top in all of this."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jess could feel annoyance rising. Dean shot him a look that clearly said he wasn't fooling anyone.

"I think you know," Dean looked again at Logan and Rory through the window. "I mean, you were a jerk, but that guy's something else. He's seriously a _dick._ " Jess watched, annoyance fading to amusement, as a look of contrition crossed over Dean's features and he looked nervously at the baby, now chewing on the string of his hooded sweatshirt.

"You have no idea," Jess agreed easily, leaning back against the railing. Dean raised an eyebrow, but did not probe. A high-pitched chime sounded through the gazebo, and Dean again shifted the baby to pull his phone out of his pocket.

"Well, that's my cue," he said. He looked towards his daughter. "Mom's had just about enough of chasing your brothers around Doose's. We better go save her, huh, before you become an only child?" The baby gave a gummy grin around the string she was still chewing on.

"Good luck," Jess nodded.

"You, too," Dean said. "Anyway, just came over to say hi."

"Hi?" Jess asked, bemused. This whole conversation had been a little surreal.

"I still care about Rory. Not in _that_ way, not anymore, but I still care. And even though seventeen-year-old me would kick my ass for this, I just wanted to throw it out there: you're the better man, Jess."

"You're right," Jess said. "Seventeen-year-old you would _totally_ kick your ass for saying that. And then kick mine for good measure."

"Yeah, but I like to think I've outgrown him," Dean jiggled the baby, making her laugh.

"I know the feeling." Jess offered a finger to the baby, who eyed him warily. She grasped it hesitantly, holding it with a strength he was surprised she had. "Seventeen-year-old me wasn't the smartest tool in the shed, even if he pretended he was. And you had a pretty good reason to want to kick my ass."

"Finally, validation after all these years," Dean cracked a smile, and Jess again felt as though he'd entered the Twilight Zone. "Though from what I remember, you had it rough."

"For a bit, yeah. Doesn't excuse everything."

"Came out okay on the other end, though," Dean mused. "Saw your name in the bookstore."

"I write, here and there. You read it?"

"Nah," Dean waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Don't really have the time, anymore."

Jess opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a cacophony of war whoops and what sounded like a herd of elephants headed their way. The gazebo was overtaken suddenly by three excited boys, jackets unzipped and flapping open in the late winter air. They jumped around Dean and the baby, animatedly chattering about their trip to Doose's and asking him a multitude of questions. The baby wriggled in delight at the excitement and reached down to pull off one of her brothers' winter hats. He let her have it, and reached on his tiptoes to help her put it on; both giggled when the hat fell down over her eyes, too big. Jess watched Dean navigate the sudden assault with ease, as though this happened every day (and then it occurred to him, it probably did); Dean answered the boys each in turn, ruffled the hair of the boy who had lost his hat to the baby, and pulled up another with his free hand when he slipped on a patch of ice. Coming up the path, slower and noticeably more exhausted, was the woman Jess presumed was Dean's wife. Dean greeted her with a sympathetic look and a kiss. Jess felt something twist in his gut at the scene; the family was lost to their own little world, leaving him the observer on the outside. He could not recall being so jealous of Dean in nearly twenty years, when he held the heart and affection of the girl he had fallen so hard for. Dean made a quick introduction of Jess to his wife (notably leaving out just how they knew each other, Jess noticed), before announcing to his boys that it was time to get going.

As he and his wife herded the children down the steps, Jess noticed the baby had grown tired of wearing the too-big winter hat and thrown it on the ground. He scooped it up off the hardwood and shouted to Dean, who turned in confusion before nodding a thanks as he saw the hat in Jess' outstretched hand. Jess handed it over and watched as Dean tucked it into his son's jacket hood and slung an arm around his shoulders. He shoved his hands into his pockets and debated with himself.

"Hey," he called. Dean turned again. "Do you…you know…the whole _Dad_ thing?" Awesome. Professional author. _Published_ author. Can't string two words together in a coherent question. He stared intently at his shoes. He could hear the amusement in Dean's voice at his discomfort.

"It's great. Really. It's not easy." Jess looked up to see Dean faux-glare at his son. Said son gave a cheeky grin back and snuggled closer. "But honestly? Totally worth it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're gonna do just fine." Before Jess could even begin to formulate a reply to that, Dean looked over his shoulder and gave a nod. He turned to see Logan and Rory emerge from the diner, tugging on coats and scarves against the cold. Logan brushed a kiss against Rory's cheek before climbing into the driver's seat of his car and pulling away from the curb. Rory waited until the car had made the only turn at the stop sign that would take him towards the highway, then made her way across the green towards the gazebo. She looked worn, but not upset or like she'd been crying. All good signs.

"Hey," she smiled at him. "I wasn't actually expecting you to wait outside. You could have gone back to the house or to the bookstore or something. It's cold out here."

"I'm from New York. I'm used to it." He shrugged. "Everything go okay?"

"Not too bad, actually. The usual. We'll do it all again next month."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, did I see you talking with Dean while I was in there?"

"Yeah, he stopped by. He's in town visiting family."

"And you guys…talked?"

"Like civilized adults, even. No bloodshed or anything."

"Wow. Will wonders never cease?"

"Yeah, it was a little weird for me, too." He looked down at his watch. "Your mom should be back from the inn by now. You wanna get out of here?" She nodded, and unexpectedly, looped her arm through his. He tried not to read too much into it, but Dean's words kept coming back to him. _The better man._ Nobody had ever said he was the better alternative to anything before. Especially when it came to Rory. It was unsettling.

As Rory tugged him in the direction of the Crap Shack, Jess caught sight of Dean and his wife attempting to corral their boys into a large SUV parked in front of the bookstore. The baby was worn out, and leaned heavily against her father, her eyes closed and her head tucked beneath his chin. He watched as Dean carefully buckled her into her carseat, and placed a kiss to her forehead before shutting the door. _Totally worth it,_ he'd said. It looked it. Jess barely heard a word Rory said to him as they walked back to her house, lost in thought. _You're the better man, Jess._ Better than Logan, he mused, wasn't a far stretch. He had three months, two weeks, and four days to figure out how he fit into all of this, if he did. He could only hope he was up to the challenge.

 **A/N: Totally unsatisfied with the ending to this one. I couldn't stand Dean in the original run; as someone who worked with domestic violence for years, his behavior sent up a lot of red flags and made me very uncomfortable. But he seemed to have mellowed in the revival, and I'd like to think he and Jess would have similar opinions on Logan.**


	6. Immediate Family Only

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **A/N: Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter! Also, a reminder that these aren't connected; really, they're just ideas that pop into my head about things I'd like to see if they were ever to make a revival season 2. That said, the next 2-3 one-shots** _ **will**_ **be connected, as they revolve around Rory being admitted to the hospital due to complications. The first is from Lorelai's POV, and just like with the last scene, I'm not sure we would ever see this interaction, but I think a scene or something similar would be necessary.**

 _ **Immediate Family Only**_

She had never driven so fast in her entire life. She couldn't be sure that the door was closed all the way or that her seatbelt was on properly, and she was about 99 percent sure she'd blown through a stop sign back there on Elm Street. Her poor Jeep was not made for the haste she needed right now; the engine shuddered in protest as she floored it and the wheel jerked as she swung the ancient contraption into the first available parking spot at Hartford Memorial Hospital. She all but kicked her way out of the thing and barely gave a thought to whether she had remembered to turn it off, her mind too filled with thoughts like _Rory, collapsed, hospital_ to comprehend much else. God, she hadn't even called Luke. Where the hell was her phone? No time for that now. Somewhere behind the glass and steel façade of the building was her baby.

The Obstetrics Unit was not ready for the likes of Lorelai Gilmore-Danes. She pushed through the doors with all of the thunderous force of a category-five hurricane, ready to channel her inner Emily and threaten to sue and/or physically assault anyone who stood in her way. She braced herself against the nurse's station, babbled out her daughter's name, and nearly burst into grateful tears when the nurse behind the counter graced her with a sympathetic smile and walked her through the motions of getting a visitor's pass. When all was in order, the nurse pointed her in the direction of the room behind her.

Lorelai paused for a moment, feeling almost lightheaded as the rush of adrenaline that had fueled her after she'd dropped her coffee all over the kitchen floor of the inn abruptly left. Through the narrow glass window of the closed door, Rory was propped up in the hospital bed with pillows, one hand resting on her abdomen and the other laying limply, palm up, on the mattress beside her. She was as pale as the crisp white hospital bedsheets, and there were nearly a dozen wires connecting her to half as many machines surrounding the bed. She was staring at something out the window, her brow furrowed and her thumb making small circles across her stomach. The same spot, Lorelai knew, where her grandchild was fond of making his or her presence known at all hours of the night. Lorelai took a deep breath. Calm. Rory needed calm right now.

"Knock, knock," she plastered on a reassuring smile as she pushed the door open. Rory turned to look at her. Rather than return the smile and greeting, her face crumpled and she burst into tears. Lorelai crossed the room in two strides and pulled her daughter—her baby—into her arms and buried her own terrified and relieved tears into her hair. She felt Rory clutch the sleeve of her sweater with one hand, while the other grasped tightly at her own child growing within her. They said nothing for several minutes as the gravity of the last few hours weighed on them; when Rory's scared sobs finally subsided, Lorelai realized she had subconsciously begun to rock them back and forth, smoothing her hand up and down her daughter's back. That had always soothed her best. Didn't seem to matter the cause of the upset—teething, fevers, nightmares. Thirty years ago in potting shed _(Good God, thirty years?)_ behind the inn, twenty years ago in their rundown house in Stars Hollow, now in a sterile hospital room in Hartford. Funny how a mother never forgets. After a few more minutes, Rory pulled away and reached for a tissue on the bedside table.

"Sweets, I thought we agreed this was going to be a drama-free pregnancy," Lorelai quipped, tucking Rory's hair behind her ear. "The conception was drama enough, don't you think? I'm not as young as I used to be." Rory gave a watery laugh and crumpled the tissue in her lap.

"Sorry, Mom. Seems the baby takes after you."

"I'm going to pretend that was a compliment." Lorelai sobered. "Seriously, though. What happened? Is the baby okay?"

"The baby is fine, now. The doctor said something about a placental abruption," Rory twisted part of the tissue around her forefinger. "It's when the placenta starts to tear away from the uterine wall. It's pretty common, apparently…" She looked away from Lorelai and down at her lap. Rory opened her mouth to spout more facts about placental abruption; intellectualism as a coping mechanism had always been a go-to for her. Lorelai laid a hand over Rory's, which was now nervously tearing the tissue into tiny pieces. When she lifted her head, her eyes were wet and Lorelai watched her swallow hard to keep her composure.

"It was so scary, Mom," she admitted, finally. Paused. Lorelai gave her hand a reassuring squeeze in encouragement. "I mean, I'd been feeling a little achy all day, but that's normal, right? One minute I'm making a sandwich. Then there was just _pain,_ and then nothing, and—Oh, my God! Jess!" Rory pulled away suddenly and looked frantically around the room. Her eyes locked onto her coat, draped across a chair on the other side of the room. Lorelai watched in horror as Rory threw back the covers and attempted to climb off the hospital bed.

"Woah, there. Not quite sure you're ready to be up and about. What do you need?"

"My phone. It should be in my coat pocket. _Please._ "

"Phone. Coat pocket. Got it." Lorelai ran a hand quickly through all the pockets, but only came up with Rory's keys and a handful of change. Rory cursed under her breath and looked helplessly up at the ceiling tiles. "Rory, you gotta fill me in here, kid. You said something about Jess?"

"Yes, I need to text him, or call him—"

"Jess is in Philadelphia."

"No, he's in Connecticut." Rory resumed ripping the tissue into confetti, more aggressively this time. "He came up to see his sister for her birthday. He stopped by the house for lunch today." _Oh, God._

"And he-?"

"Was the one who called the ambulance," she nodded. "Mom, it was awful. They wouldn't let him in." Tears now.

"Let him in where?" A picture was coming together, and the thought made Lorelai a little sick. She hadn't even registered who had sent her the message that Rory was in hospital; she'd had five missed calls, three voicemails, and a text message—the text message had caught her attention. _Jess._

" _Here._ " Rory grabbed another tissue to wipe the tears, then began tearing that one to shreds, as well. "He's not immediate family. He's not the baby's father. As soon as we got to the ER, they kicked him out." She flung her head back against the pillow in frustration. "For all of the days to leave my phone at home."

"In your defense, you were a little preoccupied," Lorelai tried for levity, though judging by the look on Rory's face, it went over like a lead balloon. "Okay, okay. I'm pretty sure my phone's in the Jeep. Why don't I get it and you can give him a call?" Rory nodded in agreement. Lorelai planted a kiss on the top of her head and promised to be back before she knew it.

Lorelai closed the door behind her and ran a hand over her face. She wished Luke were here, was surprised he wasn't—if Jess had called her, he surely would have called Luke. He was next on her list. She made her way out of the ward into the waiting room, and then attempted to work backwards from an hour earlier to find her way back to the parking lot. Dusk was settling in over the city, casting shadows with pinky-orange light and bringing a chill to the air. She made a mental note to grab the sweatshirt from the back of the car. She was relieved to find that yes, she had turned the car off, and yes, it was locked and there was no damage from her boxing match with the rusty driver's side door. Her phone was lying haphazardly on the passenger's seat, the flashing light indicating missed messages. She punched in her voicemail passcode and was greeted by a robotic voice saying she had five messages. She felt her eyes prickle when the first was from Luke, telling her he'd just heard what happened, and would be there shortly. It was time-stamped ten minutes ago, and she felt a bit impatient at the wait, but felt a million times better now that she knew he _was_ coming. The next three were from Jess, each more frantic and panicked than the one before; the last was right as they got to the hospital—he promised to call with an update as soon as he had it. _Except he never got one,_ Lorelai thought, annoyed. She shoved the phone into her back pocket and pulled on the sweatshirt to ward off the chill.

As she began back towards the main entrance, she saw a park bench turned away from the hospital building and overlooked a large, well-manicured field. A figure with familiar posture sat huddled at one end, staring at the horizon distractedly. Lorelai made her way towards the bench, her suspicions confirmed in the space of ten feet. Jess leaned heavily back against the bench, and toyed with an unlit cigarette, pushing it against his knee before flipping it and repeating the action. His five o' clock shadow said mid-30's, but everything else reminded her starkly of the scrawny, angry teenager he'd once been. A boy rejected by his parents, furious with the world and his current custody arrangement, too street-smart for his own good, and too disillusioned with the world to see that he had potential. Driving Luke up the wall, pulling passive-aggressive pranks, taking his anger out on everyone around him. Stealing beer from her fridge and her daughter's heart all in the same evening. Another hospital call, a fractured wrist, a wrecked car. Nearly two decades of complication between him and Rory. He didn't move as she approached, though she saw his shoulders tense, and he stopped playing with the cigarette.

"I made sure she was okay," he said after a moment of silence. He sounded worn, exhausted.

"I know you did." Jess startled, and whipped his head around. She got the impression he was expecting someone else.

"Lorelai."

"Jess." She moved to sit next to him on the bench. She nodded towards the cigarette, which he was now flattening between his thumb and forefinger. "I didn't know you still smoked."

"I don't," he breathed. "I bummed this off someone in the waiting room. Got all the way out here and realized I don't have a lighter." They shared a laugh. Jess tossed the cigarette into the field and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Rory told me," Lorelai said, mostly to fill the silence. "She said you were there with her, when it happened."

"I was," he nodded. "Never been more terrified in my life." He didn't elaborate, but the look on his face told her whatever had transpired in her kitchen was going to haunt his nightmares. Lorelai laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you." Jess' brow furrowed in confusion. "Jess, you may have well saved her life. And the baby's. And you stayed with her."

"As long as they let me stay, anyway." There was a hint of bitterness to his tone, one that Lorelai sympathized with.

"You're still here," she pointed out. He shrugged, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. She gave his shoulder a squeeze. The clearest connection between Jess and Rory was heartbreak, but Lorelai also recalled mutual understanding, support. She was still coming to terms with the idea that when Rory was off-balance, she didn't want her mom's help; she sought out Jess. She'd found out only since Rory had been writing her memoir that Jess had been the one to push her back to Yale; he was the one who gave the idea to write it in the first place—and despite Lorelai's initial reticence, she could not remember a time she'd seen Rory so fulfilled and driven. "You always seem to be there when she needs you."

"Not always. But thanks." Another pause. "And she's…?"

"She's fine," Lorelai reassured him. "Placental abruption. Common, apparently. She can tell you more about it. But she's okay."

"And the baby?"

"Also okay. But you could just come up and ask her yourself."

"But you're here now—"

"And Rory just sent me on a manhunt for my phone so she could call you. She's worried about you. And she's probably wondering where I am." Lorelai stood up, tugged on the sleeve of his coat. "Come on. It will do you both some good. They'll let you in if you're with me." Jess nodded and dusted his hands on his pant legs. He reached and picked up an empty coffee cup from the ground and tossed it into the trash can near the bench. Lorelai gasped.

"You've been holding out on me," she accused. "You found coffee in this monstrosity of an institution? We are _so_ making a pit-stop on the way back."

"Is that before or after you say hello to your husband?" Jess asked, nodding behind her. Sure enough, Luke was getting out of his pick-up in the spot next to her Jeep.

"Definitely after." She called to him and waved, smiling when he jogged over to where she and Jess stood. She took a deep breath and headed towards the hospital entrance. "Alright, troops. Once more into the breach."

 **A/N: Again, I'm having ending issues. Oh, well. I would love to see a scene in which Lorelai actually approves of Jess, and would be tickled if it mirrored the scene from "Teach Me Tonight." Thoughts are appreciated.**


	7. I'm Okay, You're Okay

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **A/N: Thanks to everyone who keeps reading and reviewing these. This is some of the most fun I've had writing fanfic in a while! This picks up directly after the end of the last chapter. The Rory/Jess interaction everyone was disappointed wasn't in the last chapter. Let me know what you think.**

 _I'm Okay, You're Okay_

His damn hands wouldn't stop shaking. The leftover adrenaline zooming around his system left him with a metallic taste in his mouth and an uncontrollable tremor that made him look like a junkie going through withdrawal. The cigarette had helped, at least given him something to do. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. Watched as Luke all but sprinted to meet Lorelai halfway at the entrance, catching her in a flannel embrace as her knees buckled and the worry she'd been holding in for Rory's sake came tumbling out in a mess of tears and mascara. Luke rocked them both back and forth, comforting himself as much as his wife, meeting Jess' eyes over her shoulder and giving him an acknowledging nod. Silently asking if he was okay. Jess nodded back and accepted a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Lorelai pulled away with a snarky, self-deprecating comment about her emotions getting the better of her, wiping her eyes on a sleeve. Neither of the men said anything; Lorelai was putting her armor back on, to be strong for Rory. Luke planted a kiss on her forehead before taking her hand and guiding the three of them through the hospital doors. The elevator ride and walk to the obstetrics ward was silent, each lost in their own thoughts. As the doors dinged open on the appropriate floor, Jess was suddenly seized with apprehension; the feeling that he didn't quite fit in here was creeping up on him. _She's worried about you._ Lorelai had told him. _Sent me on a manhunt for my phone so she could call you._

Lorelai stopped at the nurse's station and signed them in, attempting to stick a nametag on Luke until he gruffly removed it from her hand and tucked it into the front pocket of his flannel shirt. As she handed one to Jess with his name printed neatly in black script, he resisted the childish urge to flip off the nurses behind the desk. The young blonde who was currently running the desk was new, but he spied an older, war-worn battleax who had eyed him up and down a few hours before after he'd gotten turned away in the ER, and promptly thrown him out on his ear. Figuratively, of course, but he would bet money that she could do it literally if she'd wanted to. She was busy penning information into a patient chart and did not notice him, so he refrained.

He was still peeling the nametag off the paper (his fingers were twitching and wouldn't cooperate; he'd nearly torn the damn thing in half after getting ahold of one of the corners) as Lorelai rushed by him towards a hospital room with the door closed, dragging Luke by the lapel of his shirt behind her. He heard Lorelai's enthusiastic greeting and Rory's tired-sounding reply. His chest clenched as though someone had dunked him in ice water, and his breath left in a ragged exhale. The tremor in his hand increased and he felt nauseous. The nametag was hopeless, ripped in a few different places and the magic marker letters smudged from his clammy fingers attempting to peel it off. He crumpled it and shoved it in his pocket.

"And look who I found, sitting outside by his lonesome," he heard Lorelai say. That was his cue. He pushed the door open and stepped through. He locked eyes with her, and the feeling that he was going to vomit increased. _What do you want on your sandwich?_ She'd asked him only hours before. _I can do a mean ham, but we've also got—_ There had been a beat of silence that had made him look up from the book he'd pulled off her bookshelf to peruse. Braced against the counter, one hand clutching her stomach. He had opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but didn't get a chance. A scream echoed around the house. Stopped his heart and made the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. Pain. That could only mean pain. _Something's wrong,_ she'd muttered, only barely. She gone white, and then tinged blue in front of him, before her legs gave out and she crumpled onto the kitchen floor—too quick for him to catch, though he'd sprinted to the counter. Blood, there had been so much blood. He recalled little after he'd dialed 911, except the abrupt exclusion once they'd reached the hospital. _Immediate family only, sir, we're sorry._

He vaguely heard Lorelai make a comment about finding coffee, and wouldn't Luke like to help? And a moment later, they were alone. He took in the monitors, the half dozen wires that connected to her, to the baby, and broke down everything into green numbers, red lines. He stared intently at the fetal monitor, which was fluctuating more than hers, the heart rate fluttering like butterfly wings. He wanted to say something, _anything,_ but for once in his life, couldn't find the words. He could feel her gaze on him as he avoided hers. He balled his hands into fists, willed them to be still.

"I thought you'd left," she said at last. In a past life, that might have come out accusingly, reminiscent of so many other times he'd avoided the hard parts by leaving. This time, the tone was neutral, relieved even. He shook his head.

"Couldn't just take off," he shrugged. "Your mom wasn't here. Luke wasn't here." _Didn't want to leave you alone,_ was the unspoken sentiment in the air. "Plus, my car is at your house." He watched again as the fetal monitor numbers flicked up and down in miniscule amounts.

"Right. Logistics." Her fingers played with a frayed thread on the blanket covering her lap. There was another pause. "Thank you."

"Don't even start with that," he warned.

"I'm serious. If you hadn't been there…" she trailed off as the alternate reality weighed on the room. Their lunch date had been scheduled last minute. He was only going to be in Connecticut for the day, for Doula's birthday. If he hadn't been there…He swallowed thickly to stave off his roiling stomach. He didn't want to think about her lying alone, in pain, for hours on the kitchen floor until her mom came home, her phone out of reach on the desk in her bedroom.

"Well, I was, so we really don't need to think about that." That had come out a little more brusque than he'd intended. He watched her face soften and she abandoned the thread to reach out a hand to him.

"Jess. Come here." Quiet. Plaintive. He made his way over to her, obliging when she tugged him down by his arm to sit on the bed next to her, careful to avoid jostling the wires. She maneuvered him until they sat shoulder to shoulder and she had a hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. He felt the tension leave her as she leaned against him, and he felt his own heart rate slow. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before she spoke again.

"That was the worst lunch date ever." He huffed out a laugh.

"I've been on better," he agreed.

"How are you?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He glanced again at the monitors, which were beeping softly at intervals next to them. "Your mom said something about an abruption." She sobered quickly.

"My blood pressure's been high for the last few months," she said. He hadn't known that. _Why would you have known? It's not like you're the kid's father._ This afternoon, _Sorry sir, immediate family only._ She went on before he could dwell. "It's a risk factor. My doctor was keeping an eye on it. But the placenta started to tear away from the uterine wall. Bad for baby, bad for me." _Clearly._

"But you're going to be okay?" That had started out a statement, but curled at the end like a question. An unsure, scared question.

"The doctors are throwing around words like 'bed rest' and want to keep me for a few days for observation, but they stopped the bleeding in time and don't have to deliver." _Deliver?_ Rory was showing, but barely enough to warrant maternity clothes; this afternoon, she'd borrowed one of Luke's button downs to accommodate her bump. _It's too small._ He looked again at the monitor. Rory's heartbeat was a stable green line, and the numbers barely moved. The baby's, below hers on its own monitor, moved a twice the pace and looked like it was all over the place.

"Should the baby's heartbeat be that high?" he asked. Rory looked around him to glance at the numbers herself and nodded.

"It's normal; babies have really fast heartbeats, for some reason." He watched the hand that wasn't keeping a firm grasp on his arm move to cover the growing child within her. "In any case, they've been kicking off an on for the last hour, so that makes me feel better."

"Probably doesn't like hospitals," he quipped. A moment later, he watched as a smile crept over her face.

"Give me your hand." She tugged on his jacket sleeve until he slid his hand out of his pocket and into hers. His confusion morphed into shock when she placed his palm against her stomach, her brow furrowed in concentration as she moved it from one side then to the other. She stopped, and the room was still. Nothing, then a soft pressure against his fingers, pushing against them as though trying to find a comfortable position inside. The baby shifted, and there it was again, this time a more pointed pressure seeking out his palm. _Holy shit._ He looked up from his hand to find Rory looking at him with a tearful smile. She laid her hand over his as the baby once again shifted to be more comfortable.

"Now imagine that at three in the morning," she snarked. "That pointy part I think is an elbow, or maybe a foot. I'm not sure." He couldn't say anything. He concentrated on the warmth where his hand met her stomach, but was disappointed when all remained still. He felt Rory lean her head against his shoulder. "Hey Jess?"

"Hmm?"

"Could you read to me? I'm sick of staring at these four walls." He had to move his hand to reach inside his coat pocket, fishing out the paperback he'd been reading on the train from Philadelphia to Hartford. It was one he'd read before, and one he knew she'd read before; he didn't bother to turn to the first page, instead picking up where he'd left off. He settled the book between the thumb and fingers of his left hand, splaying open the worn spine with his little finger. He felt Rory slip her hand into his free one, quietly intertwining their fingers. He gave them a reassuring squeeze. It wasn't until he was three chapters in, and Rory's breathing had evened beside him that he realized his hands were perfectly still.

 **A/N: Thoughts? This chapter took on a life of its own.**


	8. R-Rated

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **A/N: A humorous departure from the two serious one-shots we've just had. This one probably fits the definition of "drabble" better than some of the others and popped into my head while walking around town a few days ago (oddly, while listening to Mariah Carey's "Fantasy"). It made me giggle, I hope it does the same for you.**

 _R-Rated_

The water had been running for an unusually long amount of time. Rory had excused herself from watching their movie about five minutes ago, ostensibly to refill Lorelai's cup of coffee and wash out her own bowl of cereal she'd been eating while they watched. Which should have taken two, three minutes tops. She had heard Rory pick up the coffee carafe and fill the mug, and then turn on the faucet and rinse out the bowl. And now…the water was definitely running, but it definitely didn't sound like washing dishes.

"Hon?" she called. "Everything okay in there?" Silence. "Rory?"

Still nothing. Concerned now, Lorelai tossed the magazine she'd been flipping through onto the coffee table and made her way to the kitchen. Where she found her thirty-something daughter zoning out the window, her gaze locked on something in the backyard. Lorelai reached for the mug of coffee that had been poured, standing on tiptoe while she took a sip to see what in the backyard was so fascinating. When she saw a section of house siding briefly obstruct the view through the window, Lorelai had to bite her lip to stop the laughter that threatened. Luke was working on replacing the aged siding of the house this weekend. And he'd asked Jess if he was free to help. Sure enough, a moment later, Jess emerged from behind the siding, oblivious to the fact he had an audience. A _captive_ audience, Lorelai mused, owing in no small part to the tighter-than-absolutely-necessary t-shirt he wore in deference to the unseasonably warm weather they'd been having lately. Jess had always been fit, but Lorelai distinctly remembered him being scrawny, triggering a maternal desire to feed him in the rare instance he wasn't pissing her off. It seems stability had agreed with him, in more ways than one; scrawny was not a word that could be applied anymore. There was a wet _plop_ of the sponge in the sink basin as Jess handed up another section of siding, pulling the t-shirt tight across his shoulders and riding up a bit to reveal a toned stomach.

"Wow, I think you've set a record for 'cleanest bowl in the world,'" Lorelai leaned easily against the counter near the stove. Rory startled and swore—if she'd jumped any higher, Lorelai would have had to peel her off the ceiling. The bowl slipped out of her hands and shattered in the sink. Lorelai winced, but couldn't help but smirk at the deer-in-the-headlights look on Rory's face as she turned around. "Nice view?"

"I…I mean, I wasn't—"

"You weren't—what? Ogling your ex-boyfriend out the kitchen window?"

" _Mom!"_ Lorelai watched with satisfaction as Rory turned about thirty shades of red. "I was _not_ ogling!"

"Hon, if I took a look inside your head right now, I'm willing to be you five bucks whatever thoughts are in there would require a parental warning and valid identification for admittance."

"I can't believe you just said that."

"You're the one who's been in here for ten minutes ogling."

"Oh my _God._ " Lorelai took another sip of coffee as Rory glared.

"I'll just be in the living room when you're done. No guarantees I won't accidentally press play while looking for the volume button, though, so maybe sooner rather than later?"

"Just let me clean this up and I'll be right in," Rory turned back to the sink and began to pick up the shards of broken bowl from the sink. Lorelai turned to walk back to the couch, now satisfied with both her coffee and her skills of maternal embarrassment, when she heard Rory pause. Then, an exasperated mutter of: "Oh, that is _completely_ unfair."

Lorelai glanced over her shoulder in time to see Jess decide that mid-seventies was just too hot for clothes—with a practiced, fluid motion, he reached behind him to tug the shirt over his head by collar. He used the shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and shoulders before tossing it aside in a casual move clearly learned from whatever Marvel-esque superheroes he was taking fitness tips from. She shook her head, seeing that Rory was once again distracted, the broken bowl laying forgotten at the bottom of the sink.

"Five minutes or I'm starting the movie without you!" Lorelai warned, flopping down on the couch and reaching for a new magazine. _I'll give her ten._ "Not ogling" indeed.

 **A/N: If we ever get a GG revival season two, there is no way Jess' new physique isn't becoming a running gag. And I'm not going to lie and say I wouldn't love every second of it.**


	9. Incorrigible

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **A/N: This drabble picks up right after the other one, because I just couldn't leave it alone. I'm such a sucker for Jess and Lorelai interaction. They couldn't stand each other in the original run, but were always on the same strange wavelength, which I find both hilarious and fascinating. If they could ever get over their issues, the snark potential is off the charts.**

 _Incorrigible_

 _Well, this sucks._ Lorelai pouted, starting at the now blank television screen and hugging a throw pillow close to her. After five minutes of ogling/not-ogling, Rory had returned to their movie. But she was fidgety, distracted. Ten minutes into the movie, Rory had crushed all of the leftover popcorn into small pieces in the bowl. Ten minutes after that, she had curled herself up on the couch and plucked at the stray sequins of a throw pillow, nibbling her way through her thumbnail. Ten minutes after _that,_ she announced she "needed some air," and was headed over to Lane's, where Lorelai presumed there were fewer sweaty, half-naked ex-boyfriends hanging out in the backyard. What was supposed to be a mother-daughter afternoon was now a solo venture, all thanks to that…that _punk_ putting siding on her house. She huffed a sigh and indulged in some self-pity, snuggling into the back of the couch and hugging the pillow closer to her.

She heard the back door open and male voices filter in to the house, talking about the siding and what to do with the pile of rotted wood paneling that was now piled in front of her Jeep. She heard Luke call her name as he walked into the living room, frowning as he noticed she was alone and the television was off.

"Where's Rory? I thought you two were going to have a girls afternoon?" She gratefully accepted the kiss he offered, even if he—unlike his nephew, the off-duty GQ model—was dressed in flannel and drenched in sweat.

"She was overheated, went for a walk to cool down." Luke eye her incredulously.

"Overheated? The A/C is turned on high. I almost needed mittens to get a beer."

"I was speaking metaphorically, of course."

"Meta—?" he shook his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

"No, I don't think you do." Jess took this moment to make his entrance, handing Luke his open beer and taking a deep swig from the one in his hand. Lorelai noticed with some resentment that he had his shirt flung over his shoulder and he was covered in sawdust, which was now tracked into the house. The rational part of her brain noticed that her beloved husband was _also_ dragging sawdust into the house and was arguably tracking _more_ , plus dirt because it was sticking his shirt, but Lorelai didn't feel like being rational. She narrowed her eyes at him. He grinned—infuriatingly—back at her.

"What are you so happy about?" she pouted. "Aren't you late for a Chippendale's show?"

"Yeah. Hey, Uncle Luke, you got a bow-tie I could borrow? Left mine at home."

"Don't put me in the middle of this," Luke warned. "I'm going to go upstairs to change. You two play nice."

"Always," Lorelai and Jess intoned together. She glared at him. _Jerk._ She didn't hate him, not anymore. But there was a distinct overabundance of Jess in her living room and a distinct lack of Rory, and the former was the cause of the latter.

"So, are you just going to walk around the house like that?" she gestured towards the physique that had sent her daughter all but running out the door.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"Just saying, this is a house and not a brothel."

"I don't know what you and Luke do when no one's around." Still, he pulled the shirt off his shoulder and tugged it over his head.

"You know, I never pegged you for a gym rat. Aren't you supposed to work in publishing?"

"Not a gym rat," he leaned on the arm of the sofa. "I spend most of my day at a desk. Needed something to work out the kinks."

"Dirty!" Lorelai admonished automatically.

"And I figure if it means pretty women ogle me while I do yardwork, it's more than worth my monthly gym fees."

Lorelai let out an indignant gasp on Rory's behalf. "You little _punk."_

"Lorelai, I grew up in New York. You think I can't tell when someone's got eyes on me?"

"You—and with the shirt—and—" She crossed her arms and resisted the urge to smack the smirk off his face. "You know, in my day, they called that being a tease _."_

"Well, today I believe they call it objectification. But you don't hear me complaining."

"You're incorrigible."

"Big words." He plucked his keys from the hall table and put them in his back pocket and checked the other for his wallet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm headed back to the diner to shower. Tell Luke I'm over there if he needs me." He paused. "On second thought, don't. I'm covered in enough dirt and sawdust for one day."

Before she could respond, he was gone, the front door slamming closed behind him. She stared after him a moment, before breaking into a traitorous grin. She'd just keep this little bit of information to herself. For now. _Oh, this is gonna be fun to watch._

 **A/N: Thoughts? My brain is fried from finals, but this has been kicking around in there for weeks.**


	10. TMI

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **A/N: Please forgive my long absence! I have a three-shot I've been working on all summer that has to do with Rory's completed manuscript, but it hasn't been as easy to conceptualize as I'd hoped. Plus, I spent the summer working two jobs because NYC is expensive and I like to eat food and have a roof over my head. Please take this short one-shot as penance; it is completely unrelated to any other chapter and takes place just after Jess and Rory get back together.**

 _TMI_

If ever there was a moment that Rory wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole, this moment was probably it. She briefly considered tunneling under the diner's worn linoleum with her fruit spoon, but she couldn't bring herself to look up from her plate, let alone dig herself out. Good _God,_ why had they decided to come to the diner for breakfast again?

The morning had started out innocent enough. Or at least, pleasant enough, following the previous night's dinner being interrupted to bring you "Rory and Jess, the Later Years," as revealed by its main leads to surprisingly little fanfare on the part of her mother and stepfather. Apparently, when you disappear for three days to the city where your ex-boyfriend/current friend and confidant/editor/possible publisher of your memoir lives and turn off your phone for those 72 hours, the whole relationship reveal thing is unnecessary and a bit redundant. There had been a stern warning about at least texting Lorelai so she didn't worry (Luke) and lots of jokes about kissing cousins (Lorelai), but on the whole, it had gone over better than Rory had expected, and she thought she and Jess would escape this weekend scot-free from any awkward moments or embarrassment. Oh, how naïve and innocent she'd been a mere twelve hours ago.

They'd chosen the diner for breakfast, because of course they did, and it was Luke who'd instigated The Moment, because of course he had, and the whole diner was looking at her, because _of course_ they were. As Luke leaned over Jess' shoulder to refill Lorelai's perpetually empty coffee mug, he frowned at the back of Jess' neck. He abruptly set the carafe down in the middle of the table and reached for the napkin holder near the window, pulling out several and grabbing Jess' shoulder with his free hand.

"Hold still," he pressed the wad to a spot on the back of Jess' neck. "Did you know you're bleeding back here? What did you do?"

Jess barely had time to let out an indignant "Hey" before Luke had pulled back the collar of his t-shirt to examine the bleeding more thoroughly. And then. It happened.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you? It looks like you got mugged by a mountain lion!" Another tug to the collar, this time to the left. "Is that a bite mark?"

Jess' eyes met Rory's over the table and she instinctively swiped her hands into her lap. Heat crept up the back of her neck and flooded into her face. She willed herself not to look down, failed miserably. Fifteen years was a _long_ time for repressed sexual tension and three days was a very short time to remedy the situation. She could tell the exact moment her mother did the math, as evidenced by sky-high eyebrows and a barely concealed smirk.

"Get off!" Jess reached behind him to push Luke's hand away, pressing the napkin against his nape. The scowl on his face was a carbon copy of his seventeen-year-old self, and that would a whole lot more attractive and amusing if the entire diner hadn't stopped what they were doing at the little-used phrase _mugged by a mountain lion_ and was now watching their table with the type of intense interest only small town gossip mills can produce.

"What, did he get your wallet? You need gas money to get back to Philly?"

"Jeez, Luke." Jess rolled his eyes and scoffed off the ribbing, though there was a red streak across his cheeks, as well. He excused himself to change his shirt, dropped a kiss on Rory's head, and disappeared behind the curtain to the apartment upstairs.

Luke seemed oblivious to both the change in atmosphere in the diner and the fact his stepdaughter had been replaced with a mime. He raised his eyebrows towards Jess' retreating back in the universal sign of _what's his problem?_ before stacking their plates and moving to clear the table. Lorelai still had not said anything. Rory refused to look up from her plate, which had been replaced by the Formica tabletop as Luke had cleared it away.

"So," he looked to his wife. "I assume you and Rory have plans today?" Three days away from her mother, holed up with her ex-boyfriend in his apartment when she'd originally intended to go over edits about the fifth chapter of her manuscript and zero communication? Rory was anticipating nothing less than a full day together and the third degree. Times a hundred now.

"Oh, yeah," she could hear the amusement seeping into Lorelai's tone. "I was thinking we'd start with manicures."

"Sounds like fun," Luke replied, in a tone that suggested he didn't understand, but was supportive.

"We should be back in time for dinner," she stood and slung her purse over one shoulder, offering her free hand to Rory. She felt the blush all the way down in her toes as her mother gave her a wink. "Come on, mountain lion."

The door was a mere five steps away, but if Rory thought she could escape this moment with anything less than complete, abject mortification, she was kidding herself. As the bell jingled and she was seconds away from freedom, Babette's voice at her elbow: "I don't blame you, doll. He sure grew up fine, didn't he?" Across the table from her, Ms. Patty nodded her agreement and made a statement about husbands that the pounding of the blood in her ears wouldn't allow her to hear.

Outside, the fresh spring air did little to cool her down and she could see Lorelai was seconds away from laughing hysterically. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She opened a text from Jess, and smiled.

 _Next time, we take a week._

 **A/N: Another one of those "I have this idea, but the result isn't what I had in my head" kind of chapters, but I had to write it. It's probably at least a little OOC. It's been stuck on replay in my brain for weeks.**


	11. Omission

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **A/N: Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter, it was a ton of fun to write! Excuse the absence. Not only have I been working two jobs this summer (NYC is expensive!), I got sucked into another fandom, and my computer has eaten this chapter three times. I've also re-written it about five times, because words are hard.**

 _Omission_

If Lorelai had to choose her ideal way to way up in the morning, hearing the words "It's done" and having a stack of paper shoved at her at an _ungodly_ early hour in the morning wouldn't even crack the bottom ten. She scrambled to get un-caffeinated limbs to catch up with reality as she caught the stack deftly—If "deftly" equated to "flailing wildly like a drowning person," but hey, she couldn't be held responsible for any motor function prior to coffee—and blinked. Blinked again. Hugged the stack to her chest and stared at the creature standing before her. This. This is what she got for being a concerned mother. A mother who, after noticing during a midnight Mallowmar run, that her eight-months-pregnant daughter's light was still on and the sounds of furious typing could be heard muffled through the closed door, thought that a quick, early-morning check in would ease her anxiety that said daughter had at least passed out over her keyboard or tumbled sideways onto her bed. Super-mom senses tingling, she vowed to pop in after her early-bird husband left to open the diner (and wasn't it morbidly ironic she'd married a morning person?) and crawl back beneath the warm, welcoming covers of her bed after maybe covering her beloved daughter with a quilt or at least encouraging her to move to a position that wouldn't kill her back later in the day. Certainly, she would not come down to the kitchen to find that said daughter had transformed into some kind of manic Gollum who went around throwing tomes at her coffee-less mother at—Lorelai glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen and glared at it—quarter of six in the morning.

She looked away from the clock and towards the nervous ball of energy that had replaced her only child. Rory looked at her expectantly, clutching the sleeves of the ancient bathrobe she'd thrown over an equally ancient Harvard t-shirt, the last of her pre-maternity wardrobe that accommodated her growing baby bump. The super-mom sense tingling again, some part of Lorelai's brain registered that Rory had been wearing that outfit for the last three days. Before she could open her mouth to comment or demand coffee or say _anything,_ the words "It's done" and the stack she was cuddling like a teddy bear finally clicked. Lorelai leaned the stack away from her to read the familiar title. _It's done._ The manuscript. Rory's memoir. It was done.

"Oh. _Oh._ "

"Yeah," Rory bit her lip and bounced on the balls of her feet.

"And you want…"

"I want you to be the first. To read it, I mean."

"Wow. Uh, really?" Sure, she'd been on the short list to read the first three chapters, but this somehow seemed a million times more personal.

"Definitely. You were right. It isn't just my life in those pages. It's your life, too. _Our_ life together."

"We were a team, you and me." Lorelai gave a half-smile that was tiredly returned.

"And I want us to do this together. As a team." Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking, but Lorelai was touched. She reached around the manuscript to pull Rory into a one-armed hug, which turned into a fit of giggles as they both cracked up. The angle was all wrong; between manuscript and baby, Lorelai could do little more than put her hand on Rory's shoulder. It did well to break the tension that had settled over the room. Settled over the entire house, in the previous seven months that Rory had secretly typed out her life's story in her laptop while Lorelai pretended not to agonize over to what extent she'd be ripped to shreds by the tell-all. It had become a non-subject in the house, mentioned only in passing and never by its title; the vague appellation of "it" had overtaken the entire project and "it" was never discussed in detail. Only that Rory was working on "it" and that it was occasionally going well.

Lorelai pulled away first, wiping tears away with the sleeve of her bathrobe and shifting the manuscript so it was no longer being bent out of shape from the awkward way it had been caught.

"Okay." Lorelai no longer cared that it was only six in the morning. "First, coffee."

"Already done." Rory gestured to the coffee maker, standing at attention with a full carafe and its power light obvious in the predawn sunrise. In front it was a plate with a pair of untoasted Pop-Tarts resting on it. Sugar and caffeine, a winning combination.

"You blessed, blessed child," Lorelai reached automatically for the largest mugs, now kept on a higher shelf, Luke's attempt at dissuading her from replacing her entire blood volume with coffee. She was halfway through pouring her first cup when she stopped. "Exactly how long have you been waiting for me to come downstairs?"

"When did I finish the manuscript or when did I make the coffee? Because that pot's fresh."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Lorelai took her first sip and sighed. Ah, coffee. Her second love.

"I dozed a little after I finished it at about three. Honestly, I'm so wired right now."

"I bet." Lorelai moved both coffee and manuscript to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. For a moment, both mother and daughter stared at the stack of paper. "So, how do you want to do this? Do you want me to read it now-?"

"Oh. Uh, no. Definitely not." Rory reached up to scrub her face with her hands. "I definitely can't be here, knowing you're also here and reading…it." Her cheeks tinged red as she looked away. "I think I'll head out for a while. I need to call Jess, anyway. I told him I would when it was done."

"Jess? I didn't know you guys were talking."

"I kind of guilted him into being my front-line editor," Rory was sheepish, and chewed on a thumbnail. "I figured since he was the one to give me the idea to write it in the first place, he could be the one to give me feedback."

"Oh. Okay." Lorelai didn't know how to feel about Jess being the one to inspire the manuscript in front of her. It seemed so incongruous that her first reaction had been shock and anger. _Oh, great. I'm looking forward to Jess' take on me. That's terrific._ And confusion. Rory and Jess didn't have a relationship. Before the wedding, they hadn't seen each other in years. And it wasn't like Jess had been hanging around Stars Hollow after the wedding. Rory hadn't mentioned the "J word" since college. And yet…he exerted such an influence on Rory that she had not only taken his advice but drawn him into the process. "Why don't you head to the diner? I'm sure Luke would be happy to make you something."

Rory wrinkled her nose and huffed a sigh. Yeah, no translation needed there. Luke had upped his attempts to convert them from a steady diet of fat, sugar, and caffeine after Rory announced her pregnancy. He could make her something, but the chances of it actually being something palatable was pretty low. He'd been on an egg-white omelet kick recently, which Rory had confided to Lorelai tasted like rubber covered in butter. Still, Lorelai saw her grab her sneakers by the back door and reach for the key on the hook for the apartment above the diner, now being used mostly for storage and occasional place for Jess or April to crash when they came into town. _Good,_ Lorelai nodded. Maybe she'd get some more sleep. Eat something. Get out of her own head for a while. Rory leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek. Lorelai reciprocated and tugged on the bathrobe that had been forgotten about. Rory rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed with her own foggy brain—"Pregnancy," Lorelai reminded her—and tossed it in the general direction of her bedroom before slipping out the door.

And then, there was nothing in the house but Lorelai, coffee, and _it._

She prided herself on being a perceptive person. Able to ferret out nefarious intents and ulterior motives within a few minutes of knowing a person. In general, she liked to think she used this power for good—pestering her cranky, cantankerous diner owner into giving her more coffee than was strictly healthy by pushing his buttons notwithstanding—and she felt the ability hovered somewhere between "cool party trick" and "human lie detector." While it provided hours of entertainment, it had also staved off the harsher, grittier aspects of being a young, single mother with a daughter. There were men that prey on women like her, prey on little girls like Rory had been; it had kept them safe. It had made her a good mother; Rory had always been an open book (no pun intended). Most mothers could tell when their baby was hungry or wet from a cry. She could tell when Rory's inflection changed on a statically international call and that the inflection meant turmoil and heartbreak.

She would _not_ be afraid of a stack of paper. There wasn't anything she _should_ be afraid of, anyway. Or so she told herself. Over and over while her daughter, feeling directionless and desperate, typed out her childhood from her point of view. Rory had spent her formative years in a one-room potting shed. It was never designed to house people. Rory spent their whole first winter there sick because the temperature in the room, even with four electric space heaters, hovered only a dozen or so degrees above freezing. She and Rory had shared a bed until Rory started school. Their bathroom had no door, wasn't even a separate room, and they relied on the inn for food. She had always told herself that she was building a life for the two of them and it was better than being stifled in Emily and Richard's house. Rory would not grow up feeling unloved or like she was being smothered in expectations, even if that meant she didn't have her own room until she was eleven years old and wore clothes sewn by her mother that bunched in weird places because the sewing machine was ancient. Rory had never complained or given any indication that this way of life bothered her, but now she couldn't be so sure.

And it wasn't like everything magically got better once they bought the Crap Shack. A 20-something on a maid's wages couldn't exactly put a down payment on the best house. Rory's bedroom had become Rory's bedroom only because it was the only remotely habitable room in the house. And then there had been all of the oh-so-fun tidbits that came along with parenting a teenager, which she hadn't been ready to admit she was _not_ prepared for. Boys. College. Estrangement. Therapy. A freaking _felony_ on Rory's record. Little kids, little problems. Big kids, big problems. Big feelings, big fallout. Big rift in their relationship that even ten years later, still smarted when she thought about it. Now laid out in Times New Roman on inkjet paper. Forever, if it got published. Maybe she'd add a shot of Jack Daniels to that coffee before reading.

The skittering of dog claws on hardwood interrupted her brooding and she turned to see Paul Anka slide to a stop in front of the kitchen table, tongue out and eyeing her Pop-Tarts with a hopeful expression. She snapped back to reality and gave him a smile. She tossed him one of the pastries and took a bite of the other one, smoothing the cover of the manuscript with her free hand. She contemplated reading it at the kitchen table, where the coffee was easily accessible, but her lower back—the first casualty of middle age, though she would _not_ admit that—protested that idea. She poured out her now lukewarm coffee, fixed another cup, and settled herself on the couch. Paul Anka, hoping that she had more treats smuggled in the pockets of her pajama pants, hopped up on the end and covered her feet like a giant, fuzzy slipper. She reached over to pat his head, and reached for the manuscript.

She took a deep breath and opened to the first page.

She jumped out of her skin when her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Paul Anka, not pleased with her impression of a jack-in-the-box, _harrumphed_ and relocated himself to an armchair across the room. She opened her phone to a voicemail message from Luke, saying that Rory had come to the diner just before the morning rush and he'd fed her pancakes and fruit (which, he added, she'd traded with Kirk for non-decaf coffee before he caught her) and she'd been asleep ever since. She texted a string of affectionate emojis back at him, both to express her gratitude and to get his hackles up, since she knew he'd spend the next ten minutes trying to decipher it and she'd get a call and a speech about technology and it leading the demise of society and interpersonal communication. A glance at the clock on the mantel showed she'd been reading for nearly four hours. _Good God._

Four hours of reading had brought her through Rory's childhood and through her first year at Chilton and her relationship with Dean. So far, so good. Nothing shocking, nothing overly insulting (except maybe to her cooking, but that was no big secret), nothing she hadn't heard or seen before. The sappy, saccharine, first-love vibes were clear throughout her memories of Dean, and she was brought back to the days in which Rory's biggest concern was failing her finals and whether her uniform skirt was clean. Little kids, little problems.

But as she turned the page and read the opening scene to Rory's second year at Chilton, she noticed a distinct shift in tone. Crisper sentences, darker wordings. She couldn't help but tuck her bathrobe tighter around herself; it was as if someone had opened a window and it had caused a draft. She couldn't remember what happened during Rory's second year at Chilton that caused such an abrupt change in maturity. And then, suddenly, a scene. A welcome wagon, hastily assembled, creating chaos in her kitchen while Rory feverishly worked on a homework assignment. A dark, snarky stranger taking up space in Rory's doorway. _A modern-day James Dean,_ Rory described him. Jess had arrived. She had to snort at the description. _He'll be flattered but make her change it,_ she bet herself.

It was fascinating to read about Rory, her friendships, and her relationships from her point of view, but as of yet, nothing had come as a surprise. As they entered the era of the "J-word," as she had continued to refer to him until only recently (old habits die hard), that had abruptly changed. It was weird. It was unsettling. _He's got a good side, you just haven't seen it yet._ She remembered those words, said over and over again. Rory had been seventeen, of course she thought he was a good guy. But Rory did not have the benefit of having dated guys like Jess, of knowing the hurt and trouble they cause. Rory had to find out first hand.

But the Jess on the page and the Jess in her memory were not aligning, and the cognitive dissonance was dizzying. Her first memory of this kid was a complete dressing-down while he tried to smuggle beer from her fridge—and, she'd found out later, sneak her impressionable teenage daughter _out her bedroom window._ And it had all gone downhill from there. Seventeen-year-old Jess used dirty glares in place of actual conversation; if forced to actually say anything, he acted like each and every word was being tortured out of him by the Spanish Inquisition. He inserted himself where he didn't belong and wasn't welcome. He played Rory hot and cold, had no regard for her feelings or those of anyone else. If she had to name someone who was going to show up on _America's Most Wanted,_ Jess Mariano would top the list. _Oh, right, Jess is the antichrist, I forgot._ She could count on one hand the number of times Rory had taken that tone with her, and at least one of them was about Jess. She'd been so confident, so sure in her conviction that Jess was bad news. And, unfortunately, she was right. It wasn't something she'd wanted to be right about.

 _He's has a good side. He's a good guy. You just haven't seen it yet._ The Jess on the page was different. The attraction was immediate and exactly what she'd expected: Jess was new, mysterious, and her small-town girl was completely drawn in by it. But it went beyond the bad boy aesthetic. Jess-on-the-page was witty, smart, and flirty, knowing exactly which buttons to push to wind Rory up. Gentle nudges outside her comfort zone. Long conversations ( _Conversations! As in words, multiple, in a row! Amazing!)_ about literature, music, politics. Support—strange, but true—for her sheltered girl's ambitions, unwavering belief that despite her rampant self-doubt, she'd succeed. _Tomorrow, I'll drive straight towards you, screaming at you in a foreign language._ She'd laughed before she realized she'd done it, causing Paul Anka to raise his head and eye her curiously from his place in the armchair. A terrifying, impulsive trip to Manhattan that took them both by surprise. Rory's Jess was soft around the edges, a desire to be close to others but lacking the skills to do so without completely self-destructing.

Jess left the narrative as quickly as he'd entered, a summer storm that built and crashed before dissipating in the morning light. There was something stilted in their ending, she noticed, as though Rory had started to write about the experience but thought better of it. She wondered what Jess would think of that, when he read it. She ghosted over Jess's abrupt love confession and his leaving again, which she wasn't sure what to make of.

The story moved swiftly along, and re-enter Dean. _Oh, dear Lord._ Dean still popped up around town every once in awhile, since his family still lived in the area, and she tried desperately to separate the now-adult Dean from the boy who'd made her baby the other woman, but it was so hard. The entire situation was just as awful to read on the page as it had been to experience first-hand. It was like trying to read through peanut butter, as weird a metaphor as that was.

Then, suddenly, Jess again. _Um, what?_ Jess at Yale. Jess didn't go to Yale. He barely even came back to Stars Hollow. Jess in town for Liz's wedding. He'd left to go back to California right after. So said Luke, who'd revealed to her that he and Jess had finally laid some issues to rest after that trip. Now Jess was in Rory's dorm room?

 _Come with me._

 _Are you crazy?_

 _Probably. Do it. Come with me. Don't think about it._

She choked on the sip of coffee she'd taken, and narrowly avoided spraying it onto Rory's manuscript. _I'm sorry, you want to run that by me again?_

He'd asked Rory to run away with him. _Run away with him._

As in leave-everything-behind, be-with-me-forever, you've-got-a-fast-car-I-want -a-ticket-to-anywhere kind of deal.

The boy who'd left her, broken her heart, and cast her aside like it was nothing had come back for her. He'd shown all his cards and overplayed his hand. Rory had rightly turned him away, but dear _Lord,_ how had that _never_ been brought up in conversation? _Hey, Mom, by the way, my ex-boyfriend stopped by my dorm and asked me to leave behind my entire life to be with him. Just thought you'd want to know._

Her eyes darted back to the top of the page, re-read the exchange. Her heart gave a lurch and tumbled. _Come with me,_ he'd pleaded. _Where?_ She'd asked. The first thing out of Rory's mouth, besides an incredulous _What_ had been _Where_? As though for half a second, her response depended on whether he meant it. Whether this was a legitimate offer, heart on his sleeve, destination in mind and her with it. _New York, I don't know. We'll start over._ And that had clinched it. _You can count on me._ Too little, too late. Desperate pleading met with forceful no's were just too much. He was gone again.

 _Come with me. Don't think about it._ Rory hadn't told her. She took a sip of lukewarm coffee to ease the sting.

She was so distracted that she all but skimmed through the next part of the story, though she had to admit that unlike Rory's Jess-on-the-page, Rory's Logan-on-the-page did little to redeem himself and only further confirmed that her instincts about _him,_ at least, had been correct. She learned some things she felt she'd rather not know about Rory's time with Logan away from Yale, their estrangement making it feel as though she was reading about a different Rory, a Rory unlike the daughter she'd raised.

And then, Jess _again._ Jess in Hartford. He wrote a book. The pride evident in Rory's writing. Jess and Logan, head to head, reminiscent yet different than Dean and Jess head to head. _What is going on with you?_ Jess giving voice to all of her worries for Rory during that time. _What are you doing? Why did you drop out of Yale?!_ Rory admitting to him—the first—that she had lost her way. Rory back on track. Back on track because _Jess_ had given her the reality check of her life. _Jess_ had gotten through to her. _Jess._

Months later. Philadelphia. She remembered this. But not this way. _God, I didn't know you were seeing Jess._ A pause. _I'm not seeing Jess, we're just friends._ Logan hadn't known she'd gone to see him. She didn't tell anyone she'd gone to see him. _I swear nothing happened._ Nothing. A brief connection. Nothing. An unexpected kiss, written in the same strange, stilted, emotionless tone that had permeated Jess' leaving. Nothing. Confusion, rejection, hurt, pain. Nothing. _Nothing happened._ A nothing that required an apology epitaph at the end of the chapter, ten years after the fact. A nothing that she clearly hadn't felt comfortable talking to her mother about. _Nothing._ _We're just friends. Nothing happened._

 _Rory wouldn't lie._ The words, a dusty artifact from a conversation with Dean, came unbidden to the forefront of her mind. And it was true. Rory wouldn't lie. Not outright, and not usually even by omission; their relationship was _defined_ by the unusual level of openness that other mothers could only dream about. Rory wasn't one for keeping secrets from her. They'd lost contact with each other for awhile, but nothing that Rory had written about her time at Yale had come as a surprise…some of it had been shared—shouted, yelled, screamed, argued—during and the rest discussed after. For crying out loud, they'd had conversations about her becoming a mistress (ugh!) not once but _twice_ in her romantic career, but this…this was new. Rory had never, in her memory, lied to her face.

She put a finger in the manuscript to mark her place and looked out the window instead. She wanted, badly, to brush this off, finish the book. She remembered, vividly, Rory's return from Manhattan after skipping school to see Jess. Rory didn't do anything without a reason, conscious—or more often, subconsciously. _That doesn't mean nothing,_ she'd told Rory. _That means something._ Rory had secreted away an entire portion of her life, hiding it behind a façade of nonchalance and a blank expression. _That doesn't mean nothing; that means something._

The writing—the words Rory had chosen to describe this relationship were halting, as though they had been typed and re-typed and she couldn't get the wording just right. They lacked the depth and color of the other chapters, a pebble bouncing on the surface of a still pond, off and gone again before it had a chance to sink. She called him a _modern-day James Dean_ with affection but written about his leaving like it was the weather. She'd written ten pages about an amusing childhood anecdote, but Philadelphia and her apology took up less than two. As though these moments were of little consequence. Or of too much consequence.

 _Come with me._ Jess had asked her to run away with him. Rory hadn't told her.

 _Why did you drop out of Yale?_ One conversation with Jess had done more than six months of conversations with anyone else. Rory hadn't told her.

 _I didn't know you were seeing Jess._

 _I'm not. Nothing happened._

The inspiration to write the book. _I was frustrated, I was talking to Jess._

 _I made Jess my front-line editor. I need to call him._

That doesn't mean nothing. That means something.

She threw off her bathrobe and tossed it onto the couch behind her. Still in her pajamas (at what was now about two in the afternoon), she grabbed the keys to the Jeep and shoved on a pair of worn house slippers. She all but flew out of the driveway and yanked the steering wheel in the direction of Luke's.

 _Maybe, honey, you are falling for Jess._ Maybe, just maybe, she'd never really stopped.

 **A/N: The first in a two or three part one-shot series I may eventually pull out to stand on its own. This was inspired by a headcanon I had months ago about Lorelai pointing out the suspiciously small amount of time between Jess asking Rory to come with him and sleeping with Dean. Except when I started writing it, I realized that Rory told Lane about that, but there's nothing (that I could find) that suggests she ever told Lorelai about it. And it struck me that after Jess tells her he loves her, Rory becomes increasingly protective over that relationship and stops telling Lorelai about it, even when the interactions are completely innocuous. Which is interesting, to say the least. Next up, Lorelai confronts Rory.**


End file.
